Different Tastes in Tea
by Emma of the TARDIS
Summary: Title was prompt for johnlockexhange. Basically, how tea played a major role in John and Sherlock finally coming together.( Briefly mentions of drug use.)
1. Addiction to Tea

"So, you did drugs?" John asked. It was a few days after they had finished the two cases. Those first couple of days had been a whirlwind of activity, but there was nothing for Sherlock to do. He had been increasingly annoying about how boring things were. John was a little worried about what he might try to do, if Molly had been telling the truth with the riding crop and corpses.

"They helped me think."

"Even though-"

"They are highly addictive, yes. It's easy for those in my family to get addicted to things."

"Oh. Well."

"Actually, I was trying to get over an addiction."

"What could be worse than drugs?"

"Tea."

"Tea?"

"Yes."

John wasn't sure what to think. Tea had caffeine, but could someone become so addicted to it that drugs were a lesser evil? Was tea code for some sort if drug that was even worse? Or something else that was depraved?

"John, you're thinking far too loudly." Sherlock was laying on the couch, his hands in prayer. He obviously wasn't praying to a god, but to himself. How anyone could hear thoughts was beyond John. _Cough thrice if you can hear me, _John thought quickly. If Sherlock really could read minds, it would explain a lot.

_Cough_.

_Cough_.

Nothing. Was he playing games with John or was it just a coincidence? It was hopeless to try, wasn't it? Sherlock would either play games with him or couldn't read his mind. Hopefully, it was the latter.

"Well, that would explain why you never drink tea when I make it."

"John. I'm thinking."

"About what? There aren't any cases!"

"Pi."

"Pie? First tea now pie? I thought you were so superior that you didn't need food or drink!"

"I am still human and still have human needs. But I was talking about pi. P-I pi, not P-I-E pie. I'm trying to see how far I can say it. I'm currently at the ten thousand and ninth place."

"All I know about pi is that it doesn't make sense and the billionth digit is nine." John had a friend in the army who was always spewing out random facts. That was really the only one he remembered.

"How can it not make sense? Even the earliest mathematicians understood it."

"You know what? Go back to digits of pi. This conversation is over." As much as he didn't like silence, it was preferable to what Sherlock was saying. Silence left John too alone in his thoughts. It was always better having someone around in the silence. It left him in his mind too much. There were countless things he never wanted to think about again.

"But pi-"

"Shush."

"Well, you've disrupted my thoughts. Care to talk about something?" He asked, switching from laying down to sitting up. What was Sherlock doing? He wasn't supposed to have conversations. It didn't work that way. "Don't be silly, John, I do like to talk. It's just most people are so boring about it."

"I'm still baffled as to how you can be addicted to tea."

"How can anyone be addicted to anything? You're the doctor."

"I know how that works, Sherlock. But _tea_?"

"Black tea had enough caffeine to get me to think better. It heightens my senses. I was drinking at least a two liters of it a day."

"Well, obviously, that's not good for you, but why was that so terrible?"

"Because that was just the black tea."

"You drank more than that?"

"Those weren't my best days. I never went more than ten minutes without some tea. It was crippling. And Anderson would always try to sneak some of my tea. He pretended it was just to annoy me, but really tried to drink it - he thought it was the secret to my 'super powers,' so to speak."

Sherlock was now walking around. He wasn't dressed, hair was a mess. Yet, John felt something. It was weird. Like he wanted to go over and shut Sherlock up. That part wasn't unusual, it was that he wanted to use his lips to physically stop Sherlock's.

John wasn't gay. Harry was and that was all fine. But John was straight. He was dating Sarah. He did not think about his roommate in that way. Partly because Sherlock was a guy. Male. John like women, females. They were who he found attractive. Not that Sherlock wasn't a gorgeous bloke, but he was a bloke.

"Anyways, it was dangerous. Three years ago, seven months, and eight days ago, I was working a case. The clues were..." John half listened as Sherlock babbled on about how he solved the case. Something about the number 42 and hobbits. John tried to listen, as both those were related to things he dearly loved, but Sherlock made it sound so boring.

"After deciding that 42 was a code for those who called themselves the Hobbits of Hampshire, I spotted one along the back of the alley. I ran to track them down, only have to stop to get tea. They stayed rogue for a few more hours, but I did hunt them down, eventually. Having to stop for tea made them escape. That's when I knew I had quit tea."

John was surprised. Who knew tea could be so dangerous?


	2. Sharing Tea-crets

John sighed. He had a terrible headache, due to not having caffeine. Sherlock had been dragging him around to various places and John wanted some tea. He liked coffee, but sometimes, he just needed a good cup of tea. Since learning about the addiction, John had been trying to avoid drinking it around Sherlock. Instead, he'd have a cup at the clinic. But that was ages, or two days, ago.

"John, you need to hurry up. Just because you have shorter legs doesn't mean you can't keep up with me."

"Maybe if I got some sleep, I'd be better. You know, I'm an average bloke. I can't get by with no sleep."

"I don't stop you from sleeping!"

"I'm so sorry, I forgot telling me to sleep during the day after running around London for three hours is allowing me to sleep."

"I get you meals."

"To go."

"You need food, I make sure you have it."

John glared. Sherlock would take care of some of his needs, but not all of them. Since when did John need someone to take care of his needs? He was a grown man who'd fought in the war, who was a doctor. He could hold his own. Maybe, he reasoned, he just needed to remind Sherlock that he was a normal bloke more often. Yeah, he could go a night without sleeping, but he'd gotten maybe eight hours over the past few three or four days. Still, it was about eight more than Sherlock.

"Come on." Sherlock was using that voice. The one that meant he was to be obeyed. John sighed again and sped up his walk. They were in some random alley. Why were they there? He dutifully followed. They twisted, turned, and practically went in circles. Finally, they left the back alleys of God knew where and were at a cafe.

"You need some caffeine."

"Am I allowed to get it? Won't it make you want some or something?"

"You seem to have forgotten that I still drink coffee and tea. I just have scaled back and know my limits."

"Oh, well then. I suppose I could use a cup," John said, with a weary smile. He followed Sherlock inside. It was somewhere John would pick. It wasn't fancy. He ordered a cup and waited for Sherlock. He ordered his black, but added in loads of sugar. He was a strange fellow. John secretly believed that Sherlock did it as a way to annoy Mycroft. Or it was just another one of his odd habits.

"How can you stand to drink that stuff?" Sherlock asked, giving John's cup a disapproving glare, as they sat at a table.

"I could ask you the same question. You know as well as I do, that tea tells a lot about a person. We aren't too alike, so I wouldn't think we'd like the same tea."

"But that stuff is disgusting. You, on the other hand, are quite tasty."

"Sherlock."

"John?"

"I really hope you didn't mean that." John sometimes just had to wonder if Sherlock did that on purpose. Did he try to say things that made it sound like he liked John? As in a more than just friends way?

"Why shouldn't I mean it? You are attractive, at least to me. So, isn't 'tasty' a synonym for attractive? Besides, it was a weak pun."

"Sherlock... You don't just say things like that."

"Why not?" These were the moments John cherished. Sherlock was actually unaware of what social norms were and he had such an adorable face. No, it was not adorable. It was just a look of confusion. It was only nice to know something that Sherlock didn't. That was all.

"Generally, a straight bloke doesn't comment on his friend's looks."

"Whoever said I was straight?"

"No one, I guess I just assumed..."

"It's a mistake to theorize without all the facts," Sherlock said in an almost disappointed tone.

"So, then you're gay?"

"Does that bother you?"

"Course not. Harry's gay and I still talk with her. It's the drinking that bothers me."

"What about you? I've caught you glancing enough."

"Me? Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, unless it affects me. Greg or Mycroft would both affect me." Sherlock paused, before saying in a voice barely above a whisper, "Or, me."

"Sorry?" John asked. Sherlock was not quite confused, but he still had is unsure face on.

"I know you heard exactly what I said. I need not to repeat it."

"This is not the place for such conversations," John said quickly. Was that Sherlock admitting he liked John? No, it couldn't be. Could it?


	3. Don't Trust Him with the Tea

The clock glared the time. It was late, or early, depending on your viewpoint. John thought of it as late. But his mind wouldn't stop replaying the events of earlier.

They had sat in silence, with John wondering what the hell Sherlock meant. Was he actually able to have some sort of feelings like a normal person? Could he like John in a more than flat mates sort of way? Or was he just using his charm?

Sherlock then started making deductions about the people around them. Well it was rather interesting, he knew that wasn't why they were there. After finishing a cup, John said they should go home.

Both were quiet on the way to 221B. John got a text from Greg making sure all was right - they hadn't had a case in days and he was worried. But they were fine. Once they got in, Sherlock went into the kitchen. John had hoped that this experiment would be clean. He sat down with the newspaper.

He was surprised when Sherlock handed him a cup of tea. It looked normal, smelled normal, seemed normal. Sherlock said he didn't drug it and John took a sip. It was nasty, just the way Sherlock liked it.

"Seriously, how can you like this?"

"How can I like you and how can you not admit you like me?" Sherlock countered, raising his eyebrows.

John leaned back in the couch. Did he like Sherlock? Yes, as a friend. Friends normally find their friends very attractive. It was normal to sometimes want to shut that gorgeous mouth up with a kiss. It was normal - who was he fooling?

"I guess, in some weird way, I do like you."

"Obviously."

"So, what do we do from here? I'm terrible at relationships; you've seen that," John said, with a little chuckle.

"Don't be stupid. You were obviously blindsided by your desire for me for any of those relationships to work out."

"How do you know more about me than I do?"

"I observe things. The subconscious shows more than the conscious will ever know," Sherlock said, standing up. "Anyways, I'm no good at relationships. I have no expectations or ideals you need to live up to, beyond what you do now. You're my only friend, the only person whose hands I can put my life into. I will never claim to be good with words, nor good with the more physical aspect of things."

With that, he grabbed his violin and started playing it. John just sat there, for a good hour, listening to Sherlock. Was this music he was composing? Was it about John? Or was it just something that struck his fancy?

Eventually, John went to bed. He laid there, wondering what had just happened. He had admitted his feelings for Sherlock, ones he didn't even know he had. It was an odd day, to say the least.


	4. Tea-Tasting Mouths

John woke up happy. It took him a moment to recall why. Right, he was now in some sort of relationship with Sherlock. He got up, took a shower, and came out to find Sherlock had gotten breakfast.

"Sit."

"I'm in a bloody towel. Can I at least put some pants on?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You don't need pants. Just sit. Eat."

John glared, but listened. He sat down, trying to adjust the towel as best he could. There was a jam-filled doughnut on his plate, with a go-to cup next to it. The cup had the place they had been the day before's name on it.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yes. I like you, but I don't know how to pursue a relationship. We should figure this out."

"Right. Well, I think the first question is are you sexual, or not? Because you can like someone romantically, but not sexually."

"I need to see. Experiment, if you will. I haven't done any of this before, John."

"Simple. Start with a hug, or a kiss. It's easy."

"I'd kiss you, but you'd have an awful tea taste in your mouth."

"Oh, so you assume there will be tongue in this kiss?"

"Obviously."

"Well, now we are getting somewhere. But I think your mouth would taste worse. You have the worst taste in tea!"

Sherlock just gave John a looked that seemed to shout "really?" John just smiled back.

"Maybe I should start experimenting sooner, rather than later. I need to find out what works best," Sherlock said, as he stood up. In a few steps, he was standing over John. He pulled John up and pulled him into a kiss. It started out very chaste, as most first kisses are.

John was about to deepen the kiss when he felt his towel drop. He quickly broke the kiss to grab for his towel. Blushing, he wrapped it around himself again. "This is why I wanted pants."

Sherlock just gave a John a grin. "I didn't think it was practical. I would want to get you out of them as soon as possible."

"You think you can shag me without taking me on a proper date first?"

"Of course. Why-"

Just then, Sherlock's phone vibrated. It was a case, from Greg.

"It looks like the fates are against a morning shag, Sherlock."

"Don't be stupid, John, there -" John pulled Sherlock in for a kiss. It quickly shut him up. He noted that for later use. Quite effective. Sherlock finally broke the kiss, needing air. He turned them around, facing the door, and put his arm through John's. "Ready to catch a murderer?"

If this was how life was to be, John would never complain. "Always."


End file.
